


Lukewarm Lovers

by rcwiggins



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Autistic Logic | Logan Sanders, Bakery, Chronic Pain, Epileptic Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Remus and Deceit are fathers, Roman is a single father, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, patton owns a bakery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:29:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21882295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rcwiggins/pseuds/rcwiggins
Summary: Owning a bakery is no easy task for Patton, but when a kind father comes through his doors alongside his son Patton realizes that things might start looking up.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman Sanders / Morality | Patton Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Deceit Sanders
Comments: 15
Kudos: 64
Collections: Sanders Sides Secret Santa 2019





	1. Chapter 1

Patton waves to the young couple exiting the bakery, flour dusting his gloves and apron as he rolls out the next batch of dough, a dusting of flour puffing up every now and then. Light piano music plays through the speakers as the bright winter sunlight shines through the windows. A few patrons are sitting at the booths and tables, silently snacking on pastries, some plucking at laptops as they do so. Although the shop has never been buzzing with people there was always a steady, consistent stream of customers, and even a few regulars, coming through his doors. 

The bell over the door jingles as a man walks through the door, a small child on his heels. The man, coincidentally, looks a lot like one of his roommates, Remus. “Hey there! Welcome to Patton’s Perfect Pastries! What can I get for ya’?” 

Nudging the child forward, the father whispers to him, “You can choose anything you want, okay?”

Shyly nodding, the kid scans the shelves before tapping his father’s hand. When his dad kneels down to the kid’s eye level, the child whispers into his ear, far too quiet for Patton to come close to hearing. Smiling, the dad stands back up and looks to Patton, “May we get half a dozen of the thumbprint cookies, please?”

“Of course!” Grabbing a bag and a small square of wax paper, Patton carefully grabs out eight of the cookies and puts them in the bag. Watching with owl-like eyes, the kid taps his father's palm eight times, eyebrows furrowing together. 

Looking down at his son curiously, he glances at the man behind the counter, now standing and scrunching the top of the paper bag to wrap a bow around it. Realizing what his child was trying to interoperate, he looks to the baker, “Sorry to interrupt, but my son thinks you might have put too many into the bag?”

While wrapping the ribbon around the top of the bag Patton looks to the father across the counter, “I think I put in the right amount. Six that you bought and two for your first time shopping here, right?”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that,” he says sheepishly, shaking his head.

“Trust me, it’s no problem at all! I like to think of it as a little gift,” finished tying the bow, Patton passes the bag over to the two, “That’ll be three dollars and eighty-seven cents,” pulling a punch card out from under the counter he punched out the first hole and exchanges it for the four one-dollar bills extended his way. Putting them into the register and counting out the change to give to him, the son reaches up to hold the punch card.

Passing back over the change, Patton smiles at the two, “Have a good day!”

“You too,” the father replies, picking up the bag and taking the change. Spotting a small tip jar to the counter, he puts the remaining coins in and holds his kid’s hand as they walk out the door, the child still holding the punch card in his tiny grip.


	2. Chapter 2

Patton finishes cleaning up the shop, keeping the lights on and the door unlocked for the last few customers that always seem to come a few minutes too late. Looking up at the clock, he notices that it had already been over forty minutes since he started cleaning. Time always seems to slip out of his hands when he’s busy. 

Taking a quick glance at his apron, he reminds himself to bring it home to wash it as he reaches behind himself to untie it, the neat bow leaving creases in the ribbons. Dots of flour have settled on him throughout the day while he baked every treat imaginable. Cookies, cakes, pies, baklava, crescent rolls, you name it, Patton supplies. He hastily tugs the apron up and over his head, sending up a small cloud of flour as he does so. 

Slinking into the backroom Patton searches for his coat and keys, quickly shrugging on his coat as soon as he finds it. Grabbing his keys and draping the apron over his arm, Patton pushes open the glass door, flicks off the lights, locks the shop up, and starts making his way to his car, the night’s icy breeze wrapping around him like a cat through your legs as you try to walk. His car is only a few meters away as he turns the corner onto Sanders Avenue, so he quickly reaches it and hops in the drivers-side door. Putting in the key, he listens as the engine comes to life and watches as the headlights flicker on. He really needs to get that fixed. 

Looking into the rearview mirror, Patton shifts the car into reverse, and, when he’s pulled out of his spot, shifts it back into drive and starts on his way down the road. Turning off of Sanders Avenue, he watches as the quaint and tiny shops shift into the bustling and bright lights of Main Street. Even at 10:28 the stores were open and buzzing with people going about their lives, shopping, dining, drinking, anything! Stopping at a red light, Patton gazes out the window, hoping that his store will one day be able to grow enough to get a spot on this road. 

The nearby theater spills with people leaving the late show, often hand wrapped in hand with their partner. As the light turns back to green and Patton presses down on the gas he yearns to one day share in the same warm feeling of love. Even his roommates have found someone already, even if it happens to be each other, so why can’t he? With a sigh, he silently drives the last few minutes home, turning into the peaceful suburban neighborhood he calls home, then from there a short drive up to the driveway and into the garage. 

Putting the car into park and turning it off, Patton grabs his things from the passenger-side seat and pushes open the car door. Bumping it shut behind him, he makes his way to the door leading into the living room. With a hushed voice, knowing Virgil would be asleep by now, Patton calls out, “I’m home.” 

Placing his keys into the bowl by the garage door and shrugging off his coat to hang up, he listens for a response. When he doesn’t get one he walks to the laundry room and starts a load of laundry, quickly remembering to toss in the apron just before he started it. With that getting done he goes back to the living room and up the stairs to see if he can find his roommates, Janus and Remus.

Their bedroom door was opened wide, so Patton was certain they weren't there, so he kept looking through the doors. Not his bedroom, no the bathroom, so they must be in Virgil’s room. The child’s door was cracked open, near-silent humming flowing out. Poking his head inside, he saw Janus brushing Virgil’s hair out of his face while Remus hums a soft lullaby, the child’s head resting in his lap. 

Looking up, Remus waves Patton over, small bags apparent under his eyes. Stepping in, and silently shutting the door behind himself, the want-to-be father whispers over, “Rough night?”

Nodding, Remus answers, “I just wish he didn’t have to deal with this. With any of this.” Looking down at his child again, he mumbles, “It isn’t fair.”

Standing up, Janus stretches and says, “At least we got him to sleep.” Looking down at the seven-year-old, he sighs, “We should probably tell his neurologist about this.”

“Yeah.” Remus tucks Virgil into the bed, kissing him on the forehead as the child’s head lolls to the side. Standing, he cards his hands through his hair, getting them caught in tangles all throughout. Wrapping an arm around Janus’s shoulders, the man whispers, “Let’s go to bed.”

Drearily nodding, his husband follows his husband’s lead to their bedroom, nearly stumbling over his own feet. Patton glances back at their son, fast asleep as he unconsciously pulls the blankets up to his chin.


	3. Chapter 3

Rubbing at his eyes, Patton unlocks the front door, the cold air biting at his hands and cheeks. Hastily entering, he shuts the door behind himself and turns on the heat as he shrugs off his coat. Sticking his keys into the coat pocket he walks into the backroom, hanging it up. Pulling on the, now clean, apron, Patton quickly ties it into a large bow behind his back. 

Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, the man grabs one of the three bowls of risen dough from the previous day, the towel still resting over them, takes out the dough inside (it’s for banana bread, without the walnuts), and begins to knead it out on a wooden cutting board that has been dusted in flour. 

By the time he finishes baking most of the bread, four batches of cookies, and some cinnamon rolls it’s 9:54, about time to open shop. Putting a loop of soft piano music on the speakers he walks back out into the main room, flips the sign on the door to “open”, and unlocks the door. As his knuckles brush against the cold glass he can see the father from yesterday walking down the street. Going into the backroom once more to bring out the fresh cookies, Patton hears the little jingle of the bell above the door.

Putting on his best customer service smile, he grabs the tray and steps back into the main area. Standing there once more is the father, smiling warmly at him as the smell of freshly baked goods wafts into the room.

“Hey!” Patton exclaims, “It’s nice to see you again.” the fake smile morphs quickly into a real one.

"Yeah, guess I just couldn’t stay away,” the man shrugs, looking at him. 

“Alright, well, what can I do you for then?” Patton responds as he sets down the platter.

“Two things today, actually,” the man starts, “My son wanted to know what jelly you used in those thumbprint cookies yesterday? He really enjoyed it and was kinda curious about it.”

“Oh, yeah I get a lot of questions about that. It’s this brand called Crofters. I used their strawberry yesterday, but I like to switch it up every second week.”

“That’s good to know. Also, what types of bread do you have?”

“Oh, all kinds! Whole wheat, multi-grain, banana with or without walnuts, sourdough, baguettes, but those always sell out fast, rye, pita, melon pan, rolls, pumpernickel, and ciabatta!”

“Wow,” he says, shocked, “that’s a lot of bread.”

“What can I say, I like making it.”

With a laugh, the man answers, “Alright, I guess I’ll take a loaf of sourdough and banana with walnuts please.”

“Alright, cool! The sourdough is still in the oven, though. It’ll be done in about half an hour, so if you want you can leave me your name and number so I can call you when it’s done?”

“That sounds good,” he responds, nodding.

“Okay, I’ll go into the back to grab a pen and some paper really quick, then.” Hurrying off, Patton enters the back room to search for the stationary. When he finally finds his trusty clipboard and pen after a minute or two, he returns, “Sorry that took so long, but I found it!” Flipping to a blank page, Patton slides them over to the man, who writes out his name and number. 

Handing the pen and board back, he smiles at the baker, “There you go!”

"M’kay, have a nice half-hour,” Patton giggles, waving as the father exits the door. Looking down at the paper, he recognizes the name. _Roman_. Doesn’t Remus have a brother with that name? 

However, Patton has no time to question it, because just as he brings the paper back into the kitchen the bell above the door rings yet again. He’ll just have to call and ask Remus about it later. 

Dialing Roman’s number into his phone with one hand, Patton, with an oven mitt on the other, pulls out the sourdough, still piping hot. Holding the cell up to his ear, he slides the pot he baked the bread in onto the stovetop, then slides off the mitt and puts it onto the counter. After the fourth ring, he is greeted with a small click and a, “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Patton! I called to tell you that your bread just came out of the oven, so if you wanted to start heading back then now would be the time!”

“Oh, right! Thank you for calling,” Roman responds, “I’ll be back over in fifteen minutes?”

“That’s good, but don’t rush yourself. If you want it cut then you might need to wait for a bit longer anyways. Did you want it cut?”

“No, thank you though. I’ll be there soon. Bye!” then the receiver clicks once more and the line goes dead. Putting the phone back onto the counter, Patton grabs two bags, one for each type of bread, wraps the loaves in wax paper, puts them into the bags, and puts those bags into one larger paper bag that could fit them both, this one proudly displaying the company logo on the front unlike the plain white bags that he uses for singular purchases. 

Just as he ties a small ribbon around one of the handles of the bag the bell above the door rings. Sighing, Patton brushes off his apron and goes out to the front of the store. Standing at the counter is a woman with a bleach blonde pixie cut tapping her acrylic nails on the counter. A teenage in standing behind her, a baggy sweater falling off of her shoulders. 

“Hey there! Welcome to Patton’s Perfect Pastries! What can I get ya?” he says, customer service voice and smile on. 

“Get me twenty four cookies.” the mom demands, still tapping her nails on the glass.

“What kind of cookies are you looking for today? If you don’t know then I can list some out and-”

“Sugar cookies, okay, make them sugar cookies!” she snaps, her daughter taking a step back and shooting Patton a sorry look. 

“Oh, well I just started a batch a few minutes ago! If you wait for about ten minutes I can-”

“Do I look like a have that kind of time?” the mom shouts, finally stopping the clacking of her nails, “I need them now!”

“Ma’am, I really can’t do that. They’ll be done in only a few minutes. I can even call you when they are if you have errands to run. Just leave me your number and-”

“This is unbelievable! Get me your manager!”

“I’m the owner, ma’am.”

“Oh, like I’d believe someone like you is able to own anything!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just look at yourself and you’ll see what I mean!” she gestures to Patton’s apron, “You’re clearly a druggie, so how can anybody think you can own a store.”

“Ma’am, this is a bakery. I have flour on my clothes.” Just as he says this the door jiggles open to reveal Roman and his son walking in, a cold gust of air following them. 

Smirking, the mother looks to the father, “I would recommend leaving. This establishment clearly doesn’t know any good customer service, and I was just asking for a refund.”

“Really,” Roman winks at Patton while the mom’s head is turned, “what did you get?”

“I got a loaf of bread,” she says, voice rising, “and it had mold in it!”

“Then you must have a punch card to prove that you did, right?”

“This shop doesn’t have punch cards. I should know, I’ve shopped here for years.”

Interjecting, Patton mumbles, “I’ve never seen you before.”

“Shut up!” she yells, causing Roman’s son to cover his ears, “I know better than you do!”

Face going stony, Patton asserts, “You need to leave.”

“I’m not leaving until-”

“No,” he interrupts, “you can either leave now or I’ll call the cops and have them arrest you for trespassing. Now get out of my bakery.”

Gasping, the mother grabs her daughter’s hand, “Fine. Let’s go, Celia. I guess your sister won’t have a good birthday after all.” She then shoves past the father and son, both of whom are still standing in the doorway, and stomps out into the cold.

Sighing, Patton wearily smiles to Roman, “I have your order in the back, just let me grab it really quick.” Slinking out, he steps into the kitchen, grabs the bag, and comes back out into the main room. Putting it onto the counter he looks to the pair, “That’s thirteen dollars and seventy-three cents.

Nodding, Roman pulls out a twenty and hands it over, only for Patton to open the till and start counting out change. “If you wait a few more minutes I can get you two a few sugar cookies.” Patton says, looking up at them, then back down at the tray, “They’re fresh out of the oven, too. May I see your punch card?”

Pulling out the card as Patton holds out the change, Roman nods, “That sounds lovely, thank you.” 

After punching the second hole of the card, he smiles at the two, hands back the card, and tells them, “I’ll be right back.” Almost as soon as he steps into the back the timer for the oven goes off and Patton pulls on an oven mit. He pulls the door open, takes out the tray, puts it onto the stove top, and slides off the cookies with a spatula onto the cooling rack. Taking off the mit he grabs a towel and fans the cookies for a few seconds, then grabs a square of wax paper and a plain white bag and puts four cookies inside of it. 

Stepping back out, he puts the new bag in with the first two and slides it across the counter, the card still laying beside it. The kid looks up at him with owlish eyes, then starts patting the counter top. When he knows he has Patton’s attention he points to Patton then holds a thumb up. Smiling, Roman tells the baker, “He’s saying thank you!”

“Oh! Well it’s no problem… kiddo?” Looking back to the kid’s father, he shrugs unsure of what the kid’s name is.

“Ah, right, I never did tell you his name, did I?” Roman ruffles his sons hair a little, but the kid quickly fixes it, “His name is Logan.”

“Well It’s nice to see you again, Logan!”

Logan then presses into his father’s side, then looks up to him. Nodding, Roman looks to Patton, “Sorry to cut this short, but I think we need to go now. I’ll see you later though, I bet.” Taking the bag and card, and subsequently passing the card down to Logan again, Roman waves back at the baker, who just then notices that the tip jar is a few dollars fuller. 


End file.
